


a lantern's lament

by crackthesky



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackthesky/pseuds/crackthesky
Summary: there are rumors of fires that burn like starlight on the remote edge of the Cindarian coast.  that they burn white-blue, ocean and foam in the same licks of flame, bright enough to be seen even in Skellige.  the islanders won’t speak of them.  if the rumors are true, the islanders say, then you should let the fires guide ships without interference.Geralt of Rivia comes to the coast.the fires burn brighter.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	a lantern's lament

They say there’s someone new in town.

Ygritte says it’s a man built from stone, human skin stretched tight over the rocky expanse of him; she says that he moves like a mountain, something monumental and wild. He has eyes like a vein of gold ore, she says, glinting yellow in the sun and the moon alike.

 _Is he dangerous_ , you ask, and she shrugs one slim shoulder. Her freckles are like stars, scattered across the expanse of her skin.

 _Dangerously pretty_ , she says. She laughs at your glare, and she has always had a laugh like the tide, something eroding and beautiful, something that pulls you under, makes you drown in her joy. 

_Is he dangerous_ , you repeat. The town is a remote one, tucked into the wind-swept cliffs of the shore. Visitors are rare. The Islanders, sometimes, searching for a spouse, besotted by the sea salt that clings to the skin of the townspeople, by the whale song in their voices. _What does he want_ , you ask.

Ygritte’s mischief melts away. _We don’t know_ , she says, _not yet_. 

You tap your fingers against the pitted wood of the table. _We will soon_ , you say, mouth drawn into something grim. _No one comes this far without a purpose_. 

The sun rises bleak behind fog the next morning, and you rise with it. You pack a small bag for the trip to town. The town is remote, but your cottage is more remote still, at the very edge of the Continent, where the sea breeze sings and strums its fingers across the seashells hung at your door until they chime like the waves. 

The gulls are crying as you enter town, circling high above, their calls sharp and piercing. The fog has burned off beneath the sun’s heated touch. People shout greetings to you, and you shout back heartily. The smile sweeps across your lips like a wave. 

You find the stone man by accident, hear the rumble of his voice before you spot his broad, broad frame. He is speaking to his horse. It is hard to keep your gaze from him, from the white of his hair, the color of the foam left behind on the shore, from his thick arms and his large hand, so gentle on his mare’s flank. He is good at seeming preoccupied, you think, for though his hand never stops moving, you can see his eyes roving. You watch as his keen gaze flickers about. He finds your siblings without err, picks all of them out in the bustle of the square, Kida, Yakob, even Gal, still small and tethered by her mother’s hand. 

You step back into the shadows, let them consume you and shield you, before he can see you. His hand pauses. Those broad shoulders tense, the muscles bunching beneath his shirt. You already know that those torchlight eyes will turn to you.

You slink further back into the shadows before you pivot. If he sees you, the stone man doesn’t follow. 

It is easy enough to avoid him as you wander town, tucking supplies into your bag and pressing the salt you’ve collected into open palms. His height betrays him, makes it easy to spot the snowfall of his hair any time he draws near. 

Ygritte, you think, will ply him with her honeyed words, will draw his purpose out of him like nectar from a flower. That will have to be enough.

You leave town early, knowing that the sun sets quicker and quicker as true winter approaches. The nights have begun to cool, the salty air growing icy. Your cottage is a warm blanket in comparison, the banked fire spreading tendrils of heat throughout the room.

You put away your supplies, tidy your cottage, and think of the stone man’s eyes, like molten gold. You think you could spend hours trying to decipher his honed attention. But the sun is sinking on the horizon steadily. 

The door to your cottage creaks as you close it, the sound almost swallowed by the crash of the waves and the sea breeze’s moan. The breeze pulls at your hair with teasing fingers, whips the strands against your face. You pay it little mind.

The path to the shore is well-trodden despite the ever-shifting sand. As you descend, the sounds of the ocean grow louder, sweeping through you and settling against you like bathwater, cocooning you in song. 

You leave your shift on the shore, shrug out of it with ease, the simple garment coming undone with one pull at the ties. The night air bites at you, licks a path of chilled air across your nude form. It is of little consequence to you. The pillar rock has drawn your gaze, the slab of it obsidian dark in the setting sun. 

The sand gives way to rock beneath your feet, slippery with algae and sharp-edged. Barnacles prick at you, their hard shells threatening to slice through your skin. You ignore the nip of them. 

Climbing the pillar rock is second nature, now, feels as easy as breathing. It is cold and wet against your skin, smells of the salt tang of the sea and the vegetal whisper of the algae. You climb, and climb, and the first burst of light piercing the still darkening sky catches your eye just as you reach the flattened top of the stone. The light comes from the south, barely visible beyond the bend in the coast, and you think to yourself, Kida. Always early.

You pull yourself up onto the flat damp of the stone. The salt water sprays high as the ocean throws itself against the glistening black of the pillar stone, breaking open upon the spear of it. The shoreline is a toothy maw, all hungry mouth. 

You gaze out into the vast expanse of the sea, time your breath with the rhythm of the waves, and wait.

True night begins to fall. The sun sinks below the horizon, all warm gold, and you think again of the stone man’s eyes. You wonder why he is here.

The last of the sun melts away, is consumed by the velvet of night. You push the stone man from your head and breathe the salt air deep. To the north, light blazes to life, white-blue and bright. 

You push the breath from your lungs and heed your sibling’s call, let the tingle at the base of your spine weave through your bones.

The glow starts soft, shimmering just beneath your skin, before it flares like a wildfire, pours from you like torchlight, casting thick and bright over the shore’s treacherous mouth.

You close your eyes against the incandescence and settle in for the night.

The shine, you think, will not ensnare the stone man’s shrewd attention, not all the way from town.

You are wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sorry that i'm a wip monster but this has been killing me inside. this is the last wip until i finish at least one of the others. also y'all i just really love the sea and i can't believe it's taken me this long to write about it.
> 
> this is likely far out of the realm of the witcher in terms of me making up my own creatures/lore/what have you but hey if you give me a world of magic and mayhem i'm gonna do what i wanna do. 
> 
> lighthouses technically didn't start warning of rocks and shores until later and were mainly used to guide ships to port but hey it's a magic world so.
> 
> tumblr is owillofthewisps!


End file.
